Limited Expression
by pyne
Summary: A totally AU fic. Yuki is a demon in a temple, but what happens when Shuichi accidentally releases him and is possessed? Hijinks ensue. Chapter Four now up. :3
1. 1.

Gravitation ain't mine. Duh. You think I'd be writing this while eating some Mac'n'Cheese if I owned the show? No, my friends, I'd be splurging on REAL Kraft Dinner instead of this wannabe crap. Yay!

****

Limited Expression

Chapter One: Seventh Circle, Dante-style

Shuichi had a problem.

But, then again, isn't that how all of these stories begin? It would be rather boring to say the least if the Chronicles of Life contained nothing but putting out the garbage, feeding the cat and scrubbing pots in the kitchen. Yes, dreadfully boring. Which is why we shall skip most of all that and fling ourselves straight into the story in progress, where none of the problems of every day life are on our favourite pink-haired singer's mind as he wiggles and squirms in the hardwood seat under the very close scrutiny of two sets of psychologically trained eyes. And you know they're trained, too, that old woman and the middle-aged man, simply by the number of degrees plastered on the wall over yonder.

So we shall skip Shuichi's hectic morning and the car that wouldn't start. Those are little, tiny things. He has plenty bigger things on his plate than if he left the kettle on.

Like not getting tossed in the loony bin.

Yes, the loony bin.

The man leaned forward in his tweed sweater, as if he was really interested in whatever Shuichi had to say.

"Now tell us, Shindou-san, when did the voices first start speaking to you?"

Shuichi was speechless for a moment, then, with perfect comedic timing, sweatdropped. 

Oi. 

0 Two Weeks Previous 0

"What I want you to do," K said seriously to the squirrelly young man pulling at his ceremonial robes in consternation. "I want you to just walk up the steps, take this wish, toss it into the shrine, ring the goddamn bell, clap your hands, bow, turn around and come right back. Can you handle that, Shuichi? Can you?" Despair was evident in his English-accented voice. Why did they have to choose something so solemn for a publicity stunt? Why a...a...a temple? A sanctuary of serenity and calm that was like _kryptonite_ to the vocalist.

Shuichi blinked large, wet, chibi eyes up at the blonde haired man and sniffled, just slightly. 

"Euurrghhhh-ahhhh..." Said the blonde, expressing his frustration and opinion of the entire sordid affair by throwing up his hands and stalking off to the sandwich kiosk. Knowing Shuichi, the temple would be in flames by the time noon rolled around. The gods would see to it, of that he was certain.

Shuichi, on the other hand, tugged again at the stiff collar of the earthy-toned robes and shifted from foot to foot, looking lost. To the side, reporters cavorted about in pre-prime time glee. Bad Luck's singer Shuichi Shindou as a proxy for his record label bringing in a nice blessing for the company. What a nice sentiment. _For the company_. At least Shuichi didn't have to sing any corporate anthem every morning, as some were forced to.

Thank God for small favours.

__

Shuichi, mouthed Sakano, and attracted the singer's attention by a rather undignified waving of his arms. _Two minutes._

Shuichi took a deep breath into his lungs. _I will not screw this up._ He promised himself silently. _I will not screw this up._

Ten minutes later, the shrine in rubble, Shuichi was pulled from the still-smoking wreckage.

0

"Shuichi. Shuichi!"

He was aware of someone shaking him violently, and groaned in his nice, relaxing sleep. Why did people have to be such a pain? He was dreaming this horribly bad dream that K had forced him to wear _dress robes_ and bless some stupid shrine on television with lots and lots of reporters watching.

'Shuichi, wake UP! I can tell you're awake, the machines say so."

Machines? What machines? Shuichi groaned again, something that sounded like 'five more minutes' and finally surrendered the fight. He acquiesced to open his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. Hiro was standing above him looking livid and worried at the same time. A frightening combination.

He snapped his eyes shut.

Hiro sighed. "I saw you, dumbass. Look at me."

Again, Shuichi cracked his eyes open, pained by the bright white light streaming through the window to his left, illuminating...

Shuichi gaped. "Holy shit! A hospital!"

"Uh...Where else would you be after you have a century-old temple collapse on your head, Shuichi?"

The temple collapsed? Well, that would make his _dream_ a reality, wouldn't it? That would make the reporters screaming like a pack of prepubescent school girls after their favourite seiyu a reality and not just some twisted little amusement Shuichi liked. Oh, dear. He sat up abruptly, too abruptly for his friend's taste, who steadied him with a hand on his back between his shoulder blades. Shuichi's eyes bulged. "Ohmigod, I wrecked the sanctuary!"

__

Shit. Popstar Goes on Rampage: Destroys Shinto Shrine. Shiiiiiiiit.

He lifted pleading eyes to Hiro's, hands clenching on the painfully clean sheets on the metal hospital bed. Hiro sighed.

"What--tell me _exactly_--what did you touch, Shuichi?"

"I walked in like K said and then... I saw....A...a stone in the middle of the doorframe. It was all pretty." Hadn't it been? All shimmery with little flecks of quartz in the firelight as Shuichi entered. He'd just wanted to _see_ it. How was he to know that it had been a...

"Keystone." Gulped Hiro in a strangled sob. He seemed to be in the middle of a painful mental collapse. "A blessed keystone. Oh, Shu, why'd you have to do it? The papers are going nucking futs. A _keystone_. If you'd _tried_ you couldn't have cause more damage. They might have to rebuild the entire thing."

"Ahhh. I see." Said Shuichi, finally understanding, and, for the second time that day, fainted clean away.

0

Shuichi awakens some hours later to a bare room devoid of all life. His eyes dance from the clock on the wall that reads a grimy 1:06 to the blank faced and clam-mouthed television set built directly into the wall. A card of well wishings already sits on his bedside table, a balloon bobbing some distance above, tethered only by a slender purple ribbon.

Sunlight filters in through the drawn blinds to create a dusky atmosphere in the private room, and it's so silent that for a moment Shuichi forgets even the events of the afternoon and runs a tender finger over to cool metal of his bed. Stainless steel. Perfect. 

You're finally awake.

The 'voice' jerked Shuichi awake with the force of a stampeding horse in his brain, especially since the two seemed to have the same source. He had heard the voice, but he hadn't _heard_ it. It simply bounced around between his ears like some psychotic ping pong ball, deep and resonant with just the slightest nasal tone.

If Shuichi wasn't laying prone in a hospital bed and thinking of other matters, he would have said the voice was...sexy. Attractive. Confident and at the same time mocking and sarcastic. How _cool._

Over here.

It almost seemed to be coming from....Shuichi turned his head to look. He got more than he bargained for. A _man_ sat in the ugly hospital chair, one leg crossed over the other and lit cigarette held flippantly between the middle and ring finger of his left hand. Blonde hair that shone like distilled sunlight and feline-like eyes like chips of raw emerald. And those eyes--those _eyes_--were directed with laser-like intensity at _him_.

Shuichi gulped. Not entirely in fear. And delivered the momentous line:

"Y-You're see through."

And he was. Shuichi could see the dim form of the chair through the man's chest and the speckled floor through his leather shoes. He felt...faint...

Goddammit, don't faint on me again, you little shrinking violet. I've been waiting for a bloody fuck of a long time in that temple for someone to free me.

Shuichi shook his head to clear it, and blinked once. "Y-You're..."

The man waved the cigarette imaptiently. Yes, yes, see-through, I got that. He paused to inhale greedily on the burning smoke with a thoughtful air. Exhale. I am dead, you know.

This time, nothing could stop Shuichi from fainting again.

Yuki sighed. Too bad the person to free him from that prison those goddamned priests had placed him in had to be such a complete little idiotic pansy-ass. He was linked with this whelp. Nothing to do about it but wait it out, and try to find a way to leave.

The demi-demon sighed, and awaited his host to return to the land of the conscious.

Not a boring day indeed.

fini.

I guess I ought to continue it. My first attempt at something that's not angst. Wacha think?


	2. 2.

Warning: Kay, while this may not *look* like a yaoi fic right now, it's gonna be. reeeeeeally. I just can't seem to shake the damn plot. I guess if I just let their relationship move better it'll come.

shuichi: 9_9;;

pyne: ...hentai no baka.

shuichi: Yep.

*  
*  


The next time Shuichi awoke the man still hadn't left his room, and was pacing around his room. His footfalls, weirdly enough, made no sounds on the floor, but his clothes rustled against each other. He was a ghost. 

Dead.

Or undead, considering that most ghosts were supposed to, you know, _pass on _to wherever it was that people go when they died. Shuichi's own bedclothes rustled as he pushed himself up and cocked his head.

The predatorial blonde glanced his way, and opened his mouth to speak, just as Sakano and K rushed into the room.

"Shuichi!" Ka crowed as Sakano looked positively pleased that their fool of a singer hadn't cracked his empty skull open in the destruction in a piece of Japan's heritage. "You're not dead! Excellent! You have a stunning amount of publicity!"

Shuichi buried his head under a pillow. "Noooo...." he mewled. "I can't. I wanna be famous for--"

"Yes, yes," soothed Sakano, patting Shuichi's tanned arm gently. "For singing. But this is as good as a dozen good reviews. You'll be famous!"

Pink hair went flying as the teen on the bed shook his head. "_In_famous, Sakano-san."

That seemed to put a minor roadblock in the producer's way, for he opened and closed his mouth in a way that was reminiscent of a carp. Shuichi flopped back down on the bed. Yuki sniggered lightly from where he perched on the window and smoked his cigarette. Shuichi turned his face to the man, nostrils smarting the acidic scent of the burning tobacco. "Put that out, will ya?"

The room stilled like a puddle icing over. K blinked. Sakano started. 

"It stinks. Put it out."

Tension sprouted like a tree exhaling buds in spring. Again, Yuki sniggered. 

Yeah, right. Make me, pretty boy.

Shuichi gaped, unbelieving that K and Sakano would just stand there and let this inconsiderate stranger--ghost may be--dump abuse on him. Enraging!n "I-I will!" And with that, he struggled to remove himself from the hospital bed. Unfortunately, his legs tangled in the sheets and he toppled over the side nicely.

__

Thump.

"Owwww....My head."

K was looking queerly at him, and Sakano was fiddling with his lowest breast button, avoiding his gaze politely. Shuichi again looked up and mewled. "C'mon, guys, throw him out or something."

Again, silence.

Yuki hopped down off the window frame and blew a smoke ring with a carefully controlled puff of breath and contraction of the throat. I'm Eiri Yuki. You can call me Yuki.

Shuichi blinked. "P-Pleased to meet you?"

Sakano began shuffling towards the door, a pained concern evident on his face. "Y-Yes," he said. "Your h-head hurts terribly, doesn't it, Shuichi? Yes. I'll just g-go call the nurse..." And the man turned and practically fled from the room. Now it was just him, K and 'Yuki'.

No cancel that. K had indeed slipped from the room as well, leaving Shuichi alone with the caustic ghost. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Muttered Shuichi, extricating himself from the sheets and rising shakily to his feet.

And spoil all your fun?

"Ass-licker," continued Shuichi, beginning to grow truly pissed off for the first time in a long time. It didn't matter how tall and how attractive this freak was! Who the Hell was he to just pop up out of the grave like that and start harassing him? "Go away. Leave me alone."

That annoying, ever-present cigarette touched home base at Yuki's lips again as his eyes narrowed down to glittering slits. No can do, hombre.

"What? Why?"

I'm a ghost-- No sense in telling the punk his true nature. This brat didn't seem to be able to handle that fact that Yuki was dead, let alone a demi-demon. Almost canonized for his various working across the centuries. Hah. A ghost who's stuck with you. You're my host, dumbass. Until you die or I possess someone else. This is the real deal, since you _ever,_ so kindly released me from my prison. His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Shuichi puffed up at his hair, blowing a bang out of his face as he clambered back onto the bed. "So go. Get out of here. I don't like you. You're mean and you have bad habits. You're some goddamn icicle." He hadn't seen the demon even crack an expression other than bemused condescension the entire time. What a royal prick, first class. 

Would. But I'm _stuck_ with a stupid, no-talent, inarticulate, worthless, trivial, boring, replaceable, bubble-gum, pitiful puke of a boy until I find a way to get out of here. Your mind. The ghost-Yuki gave a little shudder. He had always been good with acting, hadn't he? Someone had told him that if he hadn't walked down the dark, demonic path, he could have made a fine writer. Yuki just _had_ to laugh at that one. Him? Sitting at a table with brush in hand painting out some goopy stories for a bunch of hangers-on? 

Not a fucking chance.

He'd rather be dead. Not just disembodied. But dead in the only way demons could be. Swallowed up by that heavy, inviting darkness of non-existence that all beings which lacked souls (i.e. daemonics) feared beyond all else.

Shuichi eyed him with a bit of thinly veiled suspicion, a curious expression that made the tiniest little creased right _there_ between his eyebrows, noted Yuki bemusedly. It made the boy look...

Cute.

"--and furthermore, I don't _want_ to be possessed when I'm in the shower, 'cause that would be just too weird, like were in _Rent_ or something--excuse me?"

Yuki leaned up against the wall and, with a slight tweak to the form Shuichi and only Shuichi could see, managed not to slip right through it and onto the other side. It had taken him, oh, how long to get that trick right? You look, he repeated, showing just the slightest amount of a smile with the tips of fangs peeking out between his lips. Cute.

Shuichi glared at him for one moment, then angrily began to smack down the sheets, arranging them around his legs. Great. So now a homosexual ghost was after him. Oh, God, could this get any worse?

The blonde had moved around the other side of the table and was peering into the card with an expression of amused disbelief as he read it 'aloud'. To my honey Shuichi, star of Bad Luck, please get well soon with lots of hugs and kisses...? Cocked a razor sharp, penetrating eye at Shuichi. You.

The boy began to grow nervous. "W-What?"

You're Shuichi Shindou.

"Y-Yeah."

You. Yuki seemed to be growing more and more amused with each passing moment. So _this_ was Shuichi Shindou, the vocalist for Bad Luck. How many times, trapped in that spelled keystone, had he overheard the teenager's walkmans and discmans as they filed through the temple? And quite often enough, the voice that was blaring (loud enough to give them all brain tumours, or hearing damage Yuki was sure.) was _his_. That _amazing_ voice.

You...

That voice that dipped down into the lowest tones where it was scarcely more than a half-grunted whisper and high enough to take Yuki's breath (figuratively) away. It was _him_. The voice that left him breathless and senseless for brief snatches of time, until the temple emptied and he was left there, again...all alone...

Shuichi blinked up at the demon, curiosity drawing him in deeper. "Yeah?"

You suck. Said Yuki flatly, blandly. 

The teenager gaped. "W-_What?_ You're so mean!"

And surprisingly, unexpectedly, Yuki _laughed._

0

K leaned against the outside door. "He's flipped." Talking to air. Maybe a rock had knocked Shuichi's brains loose. 

__

Well, shit.

He'd put too much money into Shuichi to have him lose his marbles now. How inconsiderate! Ohhh, Sakano-san wasn't going to like this.

Fini

Author's Notes: heh. hey, y'all. you know, in the next few chapters, i'm planning on having an...innntersting scene between shuichi and yuki involving a bed. or something liek that. *evil look* but...eurgh, i'm no good at writing things like this. you guys don't mind sticking around during this perverse little experiment in trying to write some kind of tolerable bed scene, do you? heh.

shuichi: *tapping foot* well, hurry up about it.

yuki: *clapping a hand on his head* patience, my young padawan.

shuichi: *wagglign eyebrows* wanna go play 'hide the lightsaber'?

pyne: o_o;; Hentai.

yuki: _your_ hentai imagination.

pyne:...dammit. XD

and school's being a bitch. i hate high school.

Eike: You are the most wonderful Gravi author! I'm serious ^_^ I've read most of the stuff here, and I think you've written the best fics. *bounces* So you need to continue this. And "Language of Love," of course ^_^ You pick. Tell me about it! I ran into some serious writer's blocks for the Language of Love and then school came along and ate my braaaaains. Have you noticed when you go to school, your imagination is shot? just proves my theory that school is anti-thought. bleah.

Valeicia: I love this story idea!! CONTINUE!!! Ever read a manga called _Hikaru no Go?_


	3. 3.

Warnings: Okay, no hot male/male action in this one. *sigh* I mean, it had better be believeable when it appears, ne? ^_^;; It's tough to build chemistry. Anyways, thank you all for sticking with it! *hugz*

****

Limited Expression: 3

Yeah, one, two princes here before you--

that's what I said, now--

princes who adore you--

that's what I said now--

just go ahead now.

One has diamonds in his pockets,

and this one wants to build you rockets.

"Da-bee-da-bee! Dab-bah-dah-dah-dah-_dah!_" Shuichi belted out to the music blaring from the speakers in his earphones in English with all the discretion of a klaxon . Some old funky song from the '80s that Shuichi didn't understand. He understood the dah-bah-dee's, though. They were his very favourite part. 

"Doo-doo-doo-o-o-o-o-_yeah!_"

The boy danced down the street, runner clad feet with undone purple laces hopping up on the edge of the public fountain and then balancing on the curb. They shuffled, hopped, skipped and grooved as his lithe form danced to the music with entire body. 

He was clothed in a bright orange tank top and a pair of dark green kahki cut offs just below his slightly knobby knees. They were wider than they had to be, and the tank top was bigger, too. On his wrist were beaded tribal bracelets and both his thumbnails were painted a (deliberately) chipped black. All in all, Shuichi was pleased with the result. _Very skater._ He'd thought turning to admire himself that very morning in front of his full-length mirror. 

Shuichi's bare arms swayed and waved as he slipped like a fish through the crowds of the downtown business district; a shockingly coloured little koi in the middle of drab, suit-clad guppies. 

He flashed his insanely happy grin and did a little shimmy to the form who plodded sedately behind.

Colourful little koi Yuki was _not_.

His glare was colder than the ice water Shuichi suspected ran through his veins instead of blood. If I could touch you, I would strangle you.

Shuichi looked mock offended for a moment, instead replying by way of an impulsive strata of a very smoothly done moon-walking.

People stared.

Yuki rolled his eyes. Little moron. Very good, Michael, but look up.

Shuichi blinked at the joke and at Yuki's flapping mouth, but his discman, which was now screaming _Rasputin_, didn't let him hear any voices. Including his own. "WHAT?" He blared, and for a moment the entire street paused as one little boy spazzed of the edge of a set of giant stone steps.

Yuki winced. _Take,_ he mouthed and exaggerated each gesture. _Your._ Pointed to Shuichi. _Headphones._ Indicated a pair of headphones on his own head. _Off. Before I shove them down your throat._

The headphones came off, but it didn't seem as though Shuichi had caught the subtle meaning of Yuki's end, as he merely shrugged then raised his gaze upwards. "THE LIBRA-I mean, the library! Hell, yeah! C'mon, Yuki!" Taking the steps two at a time, the singer bounced up with seemingly no effort.

0

"Wowwww," breathed Shuichi, rubbernecking worse than a hillbilly in the Sydney Opera house. "Look at 'em all!" The library was a massive ordeal filled to the gunnels with volumes upon volumes of any knowledge one's heart desired. _I was right!_ Shuichi exulted to himself silently, sliding a glance back to the transparent ghost behind him. _This is the perfect place to find out about him!_

And, he also planned, how to get _rid_ of him. 

Who wanted a shadow twenty-four seven? 

Yuki, for his credit, was looking as non-plussed as usual. You mean you've actually been in here? He sniped to Shuichi, stepping clean through the main desk and into the main gallery of titles. 

"Heartless prick."

...

"Don't _smile_ like that. It's creepy."

Yuki again chuckled quietly. Now, can you actually _read_, or do you need me to help with that? 

"Again, shut up," mumbled Shuichi, voice lowered as he pulled back the seat in front of the computer terminal and typing in his query. _A-KU-MA. _Demons. It was cold in the library compared to the sun of the outside, and the boy shivered. "Cold." He muttered quietly, and began to scratch down call numbers on a slip of paper. "Ne, Yuki?"

What. Shuichi glanced up. Yuki was engrossed in reading a book over a girl's shoulder, standing right _in_ the chair where she was seated. He looked faintly disgruntled. _What...crappy writing,_ he thought. _If **I** wrote that, I wouldn't introduce the murderer so bloody quickly. Allow some suspense..._

"Nothing. Just...I'll be back."

Shuichi stood up and disappeared into the stacks like a wraith. _First rule of a fight, _ he thought. _Thou must know thine enemy in order that thou may'st righteously kicketh his ass._

Fini

Author's Notes: blaeh. i know, i know. short chapter. well, just amuse yourselves thinking of yuki-chan's eeeeevil history! what exactly kind of demon do you think he is, anyways? i keep thinking he was...:X can't say! just have to wait and see. ^_^ 

Chibi Fairy: Hayaku neeee.... I knoooow. I just don't want to pump out the chapters and have them utter crap. *rubs hands together* Right now I'm thinking maybe two chapters ahead. And also working on the next bit of The Language of Love. AND another fic from Final Fantasy Eight. Hmmm...


	4. 4.

****

Limited Expression: 4

Yuki scowled transparently down at the magenta-haired creature busily pouring over a series of thick anthologies. Are you _quite_ done, you little maggot? Yuki was not pleased, and he didn't hesitate to take his centuries-old frustration of one distinct lack of corporal body out on Shuichi.

The aforementioned 'maggot' gasped and slapped the tome shut and caught his finger in the weighty pages. "Y-Yuki! Don't sneak up on me like that!" A few other people glanced from their readings to see the lone, skinny boy squawk into empty air. 

Yuki narrowed his cat-like eyes and propped his hands on his knife-sharp hips. I got tired of reading over these people's shoulders, all right? People in this modern age... he blew a breath from the side of his lips. Considered for a moment summoning his ethereal cigarettes. They have no taste for quality.

Shuichi stared.

Yuki grimaced. If you're done... He sneered then, showing Shuichi an enticing glimpse of impossibly snow-white teeth. The ghost's disdain was almost tangible.

Shuichi rose to his feet, picking a leather-bound volume at random and a scholcky romance pulp-fiction from the pile. Why did Yuki have this effect on him? Shouldn't he have been _used_ to derision by this time? After all, becoming a J-Pop idol wasn't exactly the most masculine dream that had ever been dreamt. "Y-Yeah, Yuki." _That's it, Shu-chan_, he reminded himself, _Just cave like a sandcastle..._

But those _eyes_. Shuichi glanced up, then quickly down again, and went to go stand in line. He wished his arms wouldn't goosebump like that...

0

Well, no luck.

Shuichi pondered his latest literary failure as the two walked down the street. All his previous energy had dissipated in the library as he searched for any mention of Eiri Yuki, demon incarnate, and the boy dragged his feet across the rough pavement. His shoe-soles scraped along and skipped over the few minute pebbles and sent them skipping.

Yuki, on the other hand, glided serenely along, neither upsetting nor balancing any objects he failed to come in contact with. His face was a perfect, frozen mask of blank annoyance that gave Shuichi a peculiar tense sensation just behind his breastbone.

Did you find what you were looking for, brat?

"Uh-uh," answered Shuichi in the negative and ran his thumb along the free edge of his novel's binding. "I got a good romance, though." He shifted the encyclopaedia in his left elbow and offered up a brief prayer to Heaven that the ghost-demon wouldn't think to ask about it. 

This, you see, is Shuichi's idea of subtlety. The boy possessed no talent for intrigue at the least and had only a mild knowledge of such a thing's existence at best. So he just shifts the book again uncomfortably under his elbow and waves the Harlequin under Yuki's nose in a primitive attempt to distract him.

Out of blind, sheer luck, it works. 

Shuichi swears to light some incense at his house-shrine every day for the next year, then promptly forgets. Such economy in action.

Yuki curled his lip and pulled back from the offending object with an expression akin to panicked disgust. You don't mean to tell me you _read_ those things. He truly sounded shocked.

Shuichi puffed out his lower lip. "Don't tell me you've never read one!" He paused and looked up at Yuki's expression, still unchanged. "There's good song-material in here!" Shuichi maintained, thumping the cover of the book against a handy retaining wall as if to prove through solid construction came a solid plot.

Yuki averted his eyes. If you chose to rot your mind on that romance-shit, you little _ville en_[1], that's your business. But keep that filth away from me.

Shuichi blinked, and looked hurt. 

...I mean it.

Shuichi bit his lip and looked the other way. This day just took a giant nosedive. He'd read manga about things like this, but this wasn't how it was supposed to be! The ghost was supposed to be friendly, knowledgeable and the two of them were _supposed_ to get into all sorts of playful hijinks! The tense feeling behind his breastbone turned sour abruptly and his stomach flip-flopped.

And on top of it all, Shuichi hadn't been able to find a damn thing.

He looked up to see Yuki utterly absorbed in staring at a bright green payphone. The ghost plucked ineffectually at the green plastic for a moment. Hey, brat. Noted with satisfaction that Shuichi now responded without complaint to 'brat'. What is this?

Shuichi dragged to a stop and let his shoulders collapse like a leaky balloon. He was _tired_ and didn't _feel_ like explaining to Yuki what a telephone was. "It's a phone. You use it to talk to other people far away. On the other side of the world, even."

Yuki blinked his feline eyes and jolted Shuichi to the very core by looking surprised. Impressed even. His expression gentled as it changed, and for a moment Shiuchi thought he maybe, _maybe_ could have spied a speck of human curiosity hidden beneath that frosty layer of derision and sarcasm.

You mean...

"Yeah. Send them messages. Cane we _go_ now?"

But the moment, like a rare flower blooming, lasted all too briefly. Yuki glanced quickly back to Shuichi and wordlessly resumed the trek down the evening street. Shuichi exhaled with annoyance and jogged to catch up. He completely missed the thoughtful expression on the demi-demon's face.

0

Shuichi arrived home too late to catch his favourite soap.

In fact, he arrived home exactly in time to listlessly tear open a pack of Kraft Dinner before falling into a deep sleep. His chest rose and fell like the surging ocean as he slept, one hand curled like a foetus' on the pillow near his cheek. Above him, moonlight streamed through the iridescent form of Eiri Yuki, eyes closed to mere slits as he perched on the window frame.

He couldn't open the encyclopedia, but he could guess enough to venture the subject. Him. Shuichi most likely was researching him. His past. he relaxed against the frame of the bedroom and bit the tip of his tongue gently as he thought. 

Nothing.

He can find nothing.

It wasn't as if his journal had survived, had it? In any case, all a boring, overly-technical and needlessly wordy thumper like that thing would have would be nominal information on who he was 'thought' to be.

Big difference.

BIG difference.

Yuki smiled in grim satisfaction and crossed his arms across his chest. It was impossible for anyone to find out. Safe. He was finally safe.

Yuki allowed his eyes to drift closed, content as he was in the cradle of his certainty. A dream filled with memories, and dreams...

0

__

Yuki crouched down in the naked foilage high above the enemy camp, the smooth wood of his short bow grasped with the strength of fear in his hand, and let his eyes search for the flag of the commander's tent as his training dictated. 

Trained to perfection. Trained to be the ideal killer idealized in the flesh. Amber eyes narrowed again as he shifted position to relieve the strain on his throbbing ankles. How long had he waited here in the snow for Commander Matomiya to reveal himself from his tent? Too long.

He shook, Yuki felt, he shook in his winter uniform and light armour, but not from fear. Yuki shook from excitement. Here he was, about to fufill the mission his master Kitazawa-sama had bestowed upon his unworthy self. Absently he scooped a handfull of snow down into his mouth. It would be no good for the steam of his breath to alert sentries of his position. He was a ghost here, unseen, unheard, until it was far, far too late. 

Soon they would all know who he was.

Yuki Eiri, famous warrior and assassin. It made his very heart sing to think of all the recognition heaped upon him. Finally, they would all recognize him. Know him. Fear him.

Finally! Yuki's adrenalin surged like a beast throwing itself against the bars of imprisonment as the bare, bald head of Contingent-Commander Matomiya weaved out and among his troops. the fat, petty little man was inspecting, and Yuki hastily began slipping a bolt into a ready position. His teeth glinted in the afternoon sun and he flicked out his tongue to lick his dry, chapped lips. There was nothing they could do now. His. All his.

The bow flexed and whined as he pulled back, taking careful, precise aim.

That fat head would split open like a melon and spill all those military secrets into the snow like so much trash. Yuki would have his master's approval, finally. 

He released.

Zip!_ the arrow sang through the air, nicking the assassin's cheek as it raced past, taking a drop of blood along with the message of death to the commander._

The commander inhaled sickly as the arrow struck home, the force of the impact spinning him around and dropping his heavy body into the beaten snow. Soldiers screamed orders this way and that. Animals panicked. Tents were collapsed, fires started, brawls erupted. The neat, orderly rows of the rebels had collapsed into unmitigated chaos, and al because of one bolt. Yuki grinned again to himself and kissed the smooth wood of his arrow. 

"Flawless," he murmured to himself proudly. He half-rose, intending to sneak away into the forest and freedom.

Something stopped him. Something that switched this dream-that-was-a-memory from the realm of sheer recall into sheer randomness. Eyes were upon him. Two eyes. Two great, purple eyes that watered in pain. They saw his guilt. They spoke.

"Y-Yuki?"

The muscles between his shoulders tensed as Yuki froze, halfway into the safety of the trees.

Don't look back, _the killer thought to himself, but nonetheless found himself incredibly turning about, swiveling in the snow to face the speaker who _had not_ been there. He blinked his young eyes. Shuichi stood there in the snow, naked, shivering, arms clasping his abdomen as though he might be sick._

The wind howled and gusted against them both, Yuki tall and armoured, Shuichi seemingly fragile and utterly bare.

"Sh-shuichi..." Yuki managed. "You d-don't belong here." Well, no shit. Not eight hundred years ago, at least. 

The shivering, shaking boy continued, and made no move to come towards Yuki. All in all, he seemed jus as frightened and confused as Yuki. "H-How could you, Yuki You j-just killed_ him. Killed him!" the voice raised to a shrieking pitch that matched the wind, ripped through his ears. Yuki winced. _

"I know." he said, trying to deflect the comment, taking a step backwards, towards the trees. "My mission. Lord Kitazawa..." He trailed off. Names meant nothing to the boy. Nothing Yuki had lived, killed and died for meant anything to the boy. Yuki felt himself growing angry. How dare Shuichi stand there and judge him? Had he suffered as Yuki had suffered? Had he any_ concept of the pain he felt?_

Shuichi tried again, struggling to speak. This world seemed foreign to him, what with the cacophony of violent, roaring din just over the rise and not to mention the Arctic snow. Yuki cut him off brutally.

"You stupid little brat! How **dare** you? The sight of you makes me want to puke! I wish," he began viciously, enjoying the preverse power this gave him. "I wish the temple had cracked your worthless, shit-for-brains head straight in two! I would rather not exist than put up with your weak mewlings!" he roared, breathing heavily in his jangling armour. There.

There!

He woke up.

0

Shuichi woke up.

"Oh, God..." He whispered, running one hand over his face. "I had..the...the worst dream..." the singer looked up to the empty window frame and breathed a sigh of relief. It would have been ten times worse to hear that cold voice again, screaming at him.

"_...weak mewlings..."_

His head thumped back down onto the pillow. 


End file.
